


Holmes' Hat

by mountland



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountland/pseuds/mountland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson wants to enjoy his afternoon tea while Holmes wants to do his work in peace, unfortunately the two seem to be incompatible. </p><p>Explores the idea of Holmes being on the Autistic spectrum, stimming and sensory overload.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes' Hat

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a short piece of work that explores how Holmes experiences and copes with sensory overload due to being on the autistic spectrum (which is hinted at in the Downey Films more so than others - see the ballroom scene in AGoS, and the restaurant scene where he first meets Mary). 
> 
> I also wanted to write something that involved the rather infamous deerstalker. This is the result of those two ideas. 
> 
> Thanks to dakfinv for being my beta.

Holmes stared down at the cigarette ash in his sampling dish, poking it gingerly with some tweezers. The pieces were all off a similar size and shape…

_Glug_

His chain of thought was rudely interrupted from across the room. Gathering his thoughts back together he started again.  Similar size and shape, measuring about 10th of an inch across on average….

_Sluuurrrrrp_

… an inch across on average. No, he shook his head as if trying to dislodge the noise from inside his ear drums, 10th of an inch across….

_Clink_

The experiment in front of his very nose faded into obscurity, his attention shattered from the noises that now filled his whole conscious mind.

_ahhhhhhhhhhhhh_

The noise shot straight through Holmes head, setting every part of him on edge, muscles drawn tight like a string wound too tight on a violin; liable to snap at any moment.

‘Breath and relax old chap’ he thought to himself while trying to calculate just how long it would take Watson to finish his vile habit, or as Watson called it ‘afternoon tea’. The whole theatrical and pointless production could not go on much longer, could it? How a person could draw it out for as long as Watson could as well as take pleasure in the activity was beyond him. He glowered at the figure across the room that was causing him such discomfort.

“You’re staring at me, Holmes” Watson observed curtly without looking up from the paper he was reading.

“You are mistaken Watson, you are simply obscuring the piece of space in this room that I wish to observe.” He turned back to the sample in front of him.

“Oh of course, how foolish of me not to have realised that this was your favourite piece of air today” came the ever sarcastic banter.

“You make an excellent brick wall, but are a poor excuse for a window.” This was pleasant to an extent; it engaged the mind not disabled it. It was unproductive for his objectives but at least it bought him a few seconds blessed of silence from the torture of the previous minutes. This cease fire was short lived as Watson brought the tea cup back up to his lips.

‘Just get it over with’ he thought, but Watson seemed to have not developed the art of mind reading in the last few minutes, or if he had was being deliberately cruel as he blew gently on the steaming cup of tea and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, drew the liquid into his mouth.

All of Holmes muscles tensed, ‘swallow it, just swallow it’ his mind screamed but time seemed to slow, dragging on as his whole body tensed waiting for the sound of liquid flowing down Watsons oesophagus until…..

_Glug_

The anticipated sounds made every part of him tighten; the insufferable expectant waiting for the noise was worse than the noise itself. He concentrated on pushing the air though his nose as his teeth ground loudly in his own head, everything aching from the sheer force of will it took him to not spring across the room and knock that damned china cup out of Watson’s hand. He forced his legs to stretch out and uncurl his toes. What would become of him if his worse enemies found out that they could torture the famous Sherlock Holmes more effectively with a cup of tea than with their fists? He urgently rubbed his bare feet against the soft rug beneath them, trying to over-power the auditory overload with other sensory stimuli.

“Holmes, what are you doing?” Watson asked.

He couldn’t even hear the tone of Watsons words anymore, was he exasperated, annoyed, perplexed? The mental capacity needed to decode the pattern was too much as noise swarmed his brain, the silence deafening and his traitorous ears strained for the next sound that would cause him such discomfort. He snarled in response, bending over his desk, wanting to be anywhere but here in this mind blistering hellhole and nowhere but here with his experiment in the quiet, blissful coldness of solitude.

 Anger rose in him at Watson’s obliviousness. Why couldn’t people just see instead of asking stupid questions when the answer in front of them was as plain as day. How simple could a person be, maybe Watson was doing it just to spite him for today’s earlier incident with Gladstone. He glowered at Watson’s figure, wringing his hands in frustration at the loss of his logic, the anger and sheer energy coursing through his veins caused his mind to no longer be the master of his own body. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, to escape himself, to escape the noise, to escape this whole torturous notion of reality.

_chiiiiiiriiiingriiingriiiing_

The shrill sound of a teaspoon running along the rim of the china cup broke through him like a javelin, shattering the restrains on his temper.

“Get out God damn you, get out!” He leapt towards Watson.

Watson jumped with fear at the violent outburst, his hands flying into a defensive position

“What in God’s name?...Are you out of your mind Holmes?”

“Leave, get out, go now, quickly man. I cannot bear your presence any longer, just leave me in peace.” He manhandled Watson towards the door.

“You cannot throw me out of my own house!”

Ignoring Watson’s incorrect deduction, he can and he had. Holmes bolted the door and leaned against it as the blessed silence of the room now flowed over him, soothing and healing the aching crevices of his consciousness. But now was not the time to relax. Pent up energy sparked though his limbs the same as it does for the calm after the storm from more physical pain.  He bounded across the room in two large strides and pushed off against the wall, smooth and comforting beneath his hands, relishing in the freedom of his senses. The sensory data from his whole body combated and balanced out the over stimulation of his brain, expelling the pent up energy that threatened to engulf his whole being and his mind cleared into blissful silence. Coming to a halt against one cupboard, the discomfort of earlier washed away.

His exertions had dislodged a few articles from the top of cupboard he now leaned against; he stooped to pick them up. Not that it would make much difference to the mess the room was in but Watson was unlikely to be in a good frame of mind when he returned from his abrupt expulsion, so it was best not to exacerbate the situation by adding to the room’s disorder. Among the items was a deerstalker hat, a present to Watson from one of his grateful patients. He felt inclined to agree with Oscar Wilde, fashion was a form of ugliness so intolerable that it had to alter it every six months. This head piece was a prime example. But, as he regarded the particularly offensive ear flaps, an idea formed in his mind.

He gently placed the hat on his desk, wrapped his dressing gown around himself and returned to analysing and cataloguing the precise nature of the ash from a ‘Dragoumis’ cigarette of the Alexandria Cigarette Company. His mind was blissfully his own again, completely focused on the task ahead and the pleasure of understanding and cataloguing filled his consciousness.

\--- --- ---

A few weeks later the chance to put his new plan into action occurred. Mrs Hudson had brought them some carrot cake, though his own slice remained untouched. It was time for the mind, the work, not the pointless indulgence of the stomach. Watson, as usual, was making an unnecessary production of the boring act needed stay alive.

_Clink_

Slowly separating small parts from the bigger slice.

_Clink_

Collecting up small crumbs up with the back of the fork pressing against the delicate china plate.

_Mmmm_

A small murmur of approval and enjoyment, as Watson placed the ridiculously arranged morsel into his mouth.

Holmes grabbed the deerstalker and rammed it onto his head, pulling and securing the ear flaps tightly and…..oh…..blessed relief

He could still hear the noises, but fainter, to the point that they didn’t consume him and grate on his mind until it felt like his very mental being was bleeding and raw. The noises existed in the background, but the ash from the Ogden Guinea Gold cigarette in front of him, effortlessly moved to the centre of his consciousness unaffected by the clinking of metal against fine china. He settled himself down to work, sat square with his pride of being unbeatable by anything, even cutlery. He could quite get used to this hat.

Across the room Watson eyed the hat with bemusement.

 “Anything the matter, my dear doctor?”

“No, not a thing. I was just admiring the space behind your head Holmes, it is quite exquisite.”

And with that peace returned to 221b Baker Street, or at least until the evening when Holmes’s attention turned once again to failing to create a device that could silence the sound of a pistol. 

**Author's Note:**

> All critiques (positive and negative) welcomed with open arms.


End file.
